


Alone with Your Thoughts

by AvataroftheVast



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Addiction, Daisy smacks some sense into Jon, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, LITERALLY, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 18:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20457653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvataroftheVast/pseuds/AvataroftheVast
Summary: A post 146 fic where Jon faces the fact that he's responsible for the people he's hurt, and struggles with his own thoughts. Daisy helps.





	Alone with Your Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> This was written mostly as a way to get my own feelings out regarding this episode, so it's a bit of an emotion dump.

Jon paced as he took a drag from the cigarette in his shaking hand. The past few nights had been… rough. He had been forced to face things that he had been trying to hard to push from his mind. 

A monster. 

That's what he was. A creature of fear and terror. The kind of thing you tell horror stories about to children. The kind of thing adults would laugh to suggest might be real, but whose hearts would race when they tiptoe about their house at night, and suddenly they imagine him right behind them. 

He had wanted so badly to think it wasn’t his fault.

The first time truly had been an accident. The man at the grocery store; Jon had seen him and asked without thinking; like he was following an instinct. He hadn’t even realized what he had done until it was over. 

The second wasn’t… quite the same, either. He’d been uneasy; restless. He had figured a walk might help soothe him, but when he saw his… victim… he knew what he was after. He stalked him, followed him until there was a good opportunity to stop and ask. This had been no accident. He knew what he was doing. He planned and followed through. But the call had been… he hadn’t even questioned it. Some tiny voice in the back of his head told him he should stop, but once he had latched onto a prey, there was no turning himself around now.

That’s when he had truly recognized himself for a monster. That’s when he knew he would be better off in the Buried with Daisy. But even then he didn’t know the extent to which he would fall.

The third he had sought out after the coffin; ravenous and desperate. His own guilt screamed at him in his mind to turn around; turn around now! He would have if he knew how. 

That’s when he had found the one in the coffee shop, the internal battle inside of him still raging. The need left him tense, a physical manifestation through every inch of his body, as he stared at the woman across the room, waiting for her date to leave. I can’t do this. I need this. I can’t do this. I need this.

But when the date left, all the fight in him had vanished. He picked himself up, stumbled over to her, and feasted. And oh, it had felt so good. He saw the fear in her eyes, the shake in her voice, her feeling of vulnerability and exposure before him and he relished in it. The ecstasy of it filled him and soothed his frayed nerves. Nothing in his life before had prepared him for the rush these live statements gave him. And for a moment, nothing in the world mattered more.

Not until he was back in the archives, that was. Then the guilt kicks in, and before long he’s pacing the archives, mentally kicking himself. But no amount of mental flagellation was enough enough to keep his thoughts away from his victims. He felt their fear when they thought about him, and when he thought of them, he brought himself to their thoughts to fear again, and it fed him. There was nothing in the world to describe the sensation; the pure joy of it lighting his every nerve on fire. 

But still it was tinged with guilt. These weren't just stories; they were people; real people that he was causing suffering to, and relishing in their pain. He was sick. A gross and twisted freak of nature. He had tried to separate himself from the world and failed. Now what? Would he keep trying?

But then had come Daisy. Daisy, with her compassion and kind words. She had reminded him that he was trying. She understood; she knew how hard it was to overcome, and that sometimes you fail, but you keep trying. And for a while his heart was lightened. Perhaps he didn't have to be the monster he felt destined to be. 

He took another drag from his cigarette and looked at it as he exhaled. He had decided then that if he could keep away from the nicotine, he could keep himself from preying on the trauma of others. In the end, it had only been harder to keep two cravings at bay. 

Despite his talk with Daisy, he had taken another victim. And he had tried; he had tried so, so hard. After trying to see into Lukas's plans he was drained, weak, and ravenous. He'd managed to wait a day or two; long enough that Basira had noticed. 

He hadn't told her - he hadn't told anyone - but during that time, going out to hunt a live statement had consumed his every thought. 

He felt the need in every inch of his body. It took residence deep in his chest, but spread as if it were a physical feeling down through his arms and legs; wrapping itself around his mind. He couldn't eat. He couldn't sleep. Every waking thought was of keeping himself away from the public lest he might slip. 

He thought of Daisy. He thought of her encouraging words. She was the only one who believed in him he couldn't let her down. 

But then off he was. Every movement was pained as he fought against his own body. He screamed at himself in his mind. His eyes watered as he felt overwhelmed with disappointment in himself for actions that he had not yet taken, but couldn't stop himself from doing. 

That was when he was sure it had been the Web. Because fight as he did against his own muscles, against his own mind, in the end he had been unable to stop himself. His legs moved of their own accord. His mouth moved, weaving the compulsion that would give him the nourishment he so craved.

And it had felt. So. Good.

"Addiction is one of the strongest vectors of control," Annabelle had said. 

He expected the overwhelming rush, but it still managed blow him away every time. The fear. The terror. The power. 

He had stumbled back to the archives, full and content. A written statement could never fill him like that. Old, stale scraps; they had nothing on the fresh fear he harvested. 

But once again, morning came, and brought with it the guilt. 

And that's where he found himself now; a couple weeks later, his sins all exposed. Once again, he took a drag on his cigarette, the nicotine doing little to calm the maelstrom of stress swirling inside him.

He hated feeling like this, he decided. He hated it. But… what exactly was it that he felt that he hated?

"Jon?" Jon started at Daisy's voice and turned around. 

"Oh, hi."

"You shouldn't be outside, you know. You know what Basira would say."

"I know, but well…" Jon held up the hand that held his cigarette. "I didn't want to smoke inside."

"Very well. I'll stand out here with you, then." Jon became flustered.

"Well- I- uh…"

"And pass me one of those that you've got there." Jon passed her a cigarette and his lighter.

"I was uh… sort of hoping to be alone with my thoughts for a bit."

"And that is precisely where you should not be right now." Jon sighed. 

"I suppose you think I'm a monster now, too, hm? Preying on innocents like… like a werewolf or something, I don't know. I should have told you the whole truth and I didn't. I'm sorry."

"You're wrong. I don't think you're a monster. But I know being alone with your thoughts right now will bring you around and around in circles, before dropping you off in a very dark place." Jon looked up at her. Daisy was palming the lighter; the one with the web design on it. "'Addiction is one of the strongest vectors of control.' Yeah, I read the statement, too. Fitting that the Web would give you a lighter; something to feed your own addiction."

"Huh. I hadn't thought of it like that."

"You never do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

There was silence again between them as they nursed their cigarettes. Finally Daisy spoke again. 

"What will you do now?" Jon looked at her perplexed.

"I… I'm not sure I…"

"What is it you want?"

There was an extended silence. Jon looked at the ground. He shuffled his feet. Finally he muttered a quiet, "I don't know. I hate… I hate feeling like this. I want it to stop. But… I don't know…"

"And what are you feeling that you don't want to feel?"

"The… the guilt; of all the pain and fear I've inflicted. But I also don't want to feel this… overwhelming… need… hunger… that consumes my every thought. I hate the feeling, but I don't want it to stop, I want…!"

Daisy grabbed his shoulder and shook him slightly. "Hey. Hey you're spiraling again. Look at me." Jon slowly raised his head and met her eyes. "Now tell me. Who are you." Jon gave her a confused look.

"I'm the Archivist."

SMACK

Jon found himself suddenly looking to the right, his left cheek stinging fiercely. Had Daisy just slapped him? He brought his hand up to the sensitive skin and gave her a confused look. Her expression was flat, giving nothing away. 

"Try again. Who are you?"

"I-I'm the Arch-"

SMACK

Another slap, same side. Jon grunted and doubled over in pain, holding his cheek. Daisy could really pack a punch, and she wasn't holding back. 

Daisy grabbed his shoulders, brought him to a standing stance, and looked him in the eye.

"Don't try me. One more time now. Who. Are. You?"

Jon clenched his eyes shut. "I-I… p-please don't I…" he took a long, deep breath. "I'm Jonathan. Jonathan Sims."

"That's right. You're Jonathan. Not Jonathan Sims, head archivist of blah blah blah, just you. Just Jon. You have parents. You once had a life outside the archive. 

"Now. You've got two conflicting feelings in you. The desire to get rid of this horrible hunger inside you, and the desire to get rid of guilt. One path offers both, and you know this. The path of the Archivist. It would let you feed without guilt. But what does Jonathan Sims say to that? Not the Archivist, YOU, Jon? The Jonathan Sims who risked his life to stop the Unknowing? Who risked his life to save me? What about Martin? Would you feed on Martin, too?"

Jon didn't respond. His shoulders sagged and his head drooped, but he said nothing. Both hands still on his shoulders, Daisy continued in a quieter voice. 

"If you drop the guilt, you drop the last thing that makes you human. You will lose Jonathan Sims, and you might as well have killed yourself, because you will be gone anyways."

"So you're saying," Jon whispered, "that I have to live with this guilt? Carry it with me forever?" Daisy wrapped her arms around Jon, pulling him into a tight embrace. 

"No," she said. "You deal with it. You process it. You understand it. And in the end, you learn to forgive yourself. It's a hard and painful process; it's definitely the hard path that I'm offering here. Especially since it means also dealing with the hunger inside you, as well. And it sucks; it sucks a lot. Basira and the others won't be able to understand. To them your struggle is a passing thought. They know it's there, but they don't understand how real it is. They don't feel the strain. The agony that is there twenty-four hours a day, sixty minutes every hour, sixty whole seconds every goddamn minute. But it gets better. It doesn't completely go away, but it gets better. I can't say I know everything you'll be going through, though. After all, you've changed in a way I hadn't. Some... transformation. What's important is that you have to find reasons to keep fighting. For yourself. For the families of your victims. For Martin. Is Martin worth that struggle?"

Jon sighed.

"I don't know if I had it easier or harder," Daisy continued. "Trapped down there in the Buried, I went through what you're going through now, but without the ability to fill my hunger. Just sit there and suffer, but no temptations available. But I was also alone. Very alone. You now have the same struggle, with temptations, but with those around you who want to help. So, Jonathan Sims, what will you choose to do?"

He stood up straight and looked her in the eye, though his gaze was weary. "I'll… I'll try, Daisy. I'll try my best." Daisy grinned.

"And you don't have to do it alone. We're right here with you, remember?"

"Well, you are. Basira and Melanie don't seem so inclined. But I appreciate your support, Daisy. It means a lot." Jon looked down at the cigarette on the ground that had been knocked from his hand when Daisy had slapped him, and picked it up to find a proper receptacle. Daisy overheard him muttering to himself as he headed to the front door of the institute. 

"Guess my first step will be finding a proper anchor. My own rib? What was I thinking? Gotta find something that…"

Daisy grinned. Jon was such an idiot. He already had an anchor, and didn't even realize it.


End file.
